Chimes at Midnight by Seanan McGuire
“I don’t know whether I should be horrified or impressed that you know who Bugs Bunny is.” I leaned back to rest most of my weight on my hands and said, “It was a goblin fruit pie. Jin at Shadowed Hills thinks my body liked the fruit so much that it wanted to experience the stuff more strongly, and so it shifted itself around without consulting me. I was sort of overdosing at the time.”
“And you can’t turn yourself all the way human,” said the Luidaeg grimly. “Thank Dad for that.”
I blinked at her. “I didn’t know that.”
“Faerie protects itself, and good thing, too. If you didn’t have that particular failsafe built into your powers, you’d be mortal, and we’d be screwed.”
“But couldn’t we find a hope chest and . . .”
“You’ve said it yourself, October: you can’t make something stronger when it’s not there. If your body had been capable of chasing the goblin fruit all the way into mortality, you’d be off the playing field permanently. Have a nice life, all sixty or seventy years of it, and try not to remind your old enemies who you are. It can be done to you, but it’s not a thing you can do to yourself.” She reached out and grasped my chin, turning my face roughly one way, and then the next. “Right now, you’re basically a merlin. Ten, maybe fifteen percent fae. Even when Amy was fucking with you as a child, she never jobbed you as good as you’ve just jobbed yourself. Gold star, moron.”
“Is there nothing that can be done?” asked Tybalt. I pulled my head from the Luidaeg’s grasp and turned to see him standing near the open bedroom door.
“There’s plenty, assuming you can keep her alive long enough to do it.” The Luidaeg snapped her fingers, pulling my attention back to her. “Hey. Look at me, human girl. How bad is the craving? How many of us would you stab for a jar of jam?”
“It’s not bad right now,” I said. “We went to Walther before we came here. He figured out a stopgap that I should be able to use long enough for us to figure out something more permanent.”
The Luidaeg raised an eyebrow. “Methadone won’t work.”
“I’m not even going to ask why you know what methadone is, but no.” I pulled the baggie of blood gems out of my inside jacket pocket. “He made these from my blood. They dull the wanting for a little while.” But not for long. I could feel it starting to twist in my gut again, telling me that nothing in this world mattered half as much as seeing the beautiful things the goblin fruit had to show me.
“Your little alchemist does delight in surprises, doesn’t he? May I?” She didn’t actually wait for permission before snatching the bag out of my hand, opening it, and removing one of the larger blood gems. She held it up so that it glittered in the candlelight. “Hmm. Good work. I couldn’t have done better.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” She dropped the blood gem back into the bag. “I’m not an alchemist. What he’s done is tricking your body into believing that it’s being fed. That’s flower magic, like illusions, and he gets that from his connection to Titania. I’m all blood and water. I could turn you into a turtle so you’d die a little slower, but I couldn’t make your mind into a turtle’s mind.”
“That’s a charmingly specific distinction.” I reclaimed the baggie, tucking it back into my pocket. “I need help.”
The Luidaeg snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I can’t stay this human. The goblin fruit will kill me. I’m not sure how to call my mother—and given what she wanted to do to me before, I don’t know whether calling her would do any good.”
“Ah,” said the Luidaeg softly. “I guess I can see where that would be a concern.”
“Yeah.” When my mother first changed my blood, she wasn’t trying to make me more fae; she was trying to turn me human, to protect me from whatever lunatic destiny she was afraid lurked for our bloodline. And maybe we have some sort of destiny. I’ve had more than a few soothsayers and prophets predict that I’m going to be involved in something big, whether or not I want to be. She thought that turning me human would save me, and maybe she was right; I don’t really know one way or another. But I do know that when I was elf-shot and would have died immediately, she’d changed the balance of my blood to make me more fae.
I just wasn’t sure she’d be willing to do it again.
“What were you hoping I could do for you? I don’t have Amy’s gifts. I can’t make you any more or less mortal than you are right now.” The Luidaeg grimaced. “I could wrap you in a Selkie’s skin, but that’s a step that can’t be taken back. You’d never be Dóchas Sidhe again.”
My eyes widened. For the Luidaeg to even offer . . . “No. I don’t want that. I was hoping you’d be able to tell us whether there were any hope chests in the Kingdom other than the one the Queen is holding.”
“Ah.” The Luidaeg looked relieved. I couldn’t blame her. The Selkies were skin-shifters, and the skins they wore had been flayed from the living bodies of the Roane. Every Firstborn had his or her own descendant races. The Roane had been hers.
The Luidaeg’s relief faded quickly, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Toby, but no. The only hope chest in this Kingdom is the one you surrendered to the Queen. If you want it, you need to get access to the treasury.”
“And we’re back to insurrection.” I sighed. “That’s still the plan, mind you, but I was hoping to be a little more indestructible when I pulled the trigger. Also, alive. Alive figures heavily in my long-term plans.” As human as I was at the moment, I wasn’t even sure the night-haunts would come if I died. The thought filled me with a new form of sick terror. Faerie lives on in the night-haunts. They’re the closest we can come to actual eternity. I’ve never been in a hurry to join them, but the idea that I might not join them at all was . . . unsettling.
“So what’s next?”
“There’s a book at the Library. No title, bound in blue samite, written by Antigone of Albany. It has records of where the hope chests went after they were handed out—including the one the Queen has now. Got any ideas on where we could find her? Maybe this Antigone lady can give us some suggestions on where to get our hands on an alternative.”
The Luidaeg stared at me for a long moment. Then, mirthlessly, she laughed. “Oh, how quickly they forget. Yeah, Toby. I know where to find Antigone.”
“Great!” I moved to stand. “Where—”
“That’s the name my parents gave me, after all.”
I jumped the rest of the way to my feet. “What?”
“Oh, Toby, Toby, Toby.” The Luidaeg reached over and pushed me gently back into a sitting position. “You didn’t think Maeve looked at me in my cradle and went ‘let’s name her Luidaeg,’ do you? My name—my given name—is Antigone. I was born in Scotland. We called it ‘Albany’ at the time. To be honest, I like that name a lot better, but what kind of vote do I get? I moved out centuries ago.”
“You—I—what?”
“All Firstborn have names, Toby. We chose to hide them behind titles a long time ago, when we realized it was time for us to take a big step away from Faerie. Even the strongest of our descendants were weak compared to us, their parents and originals. We didn’t have to leave. But we did have to create a barrier, to remind the children of our children that we were something more than tools to be used.”
“Blind Michael,” I said, softly.
“Yes. And Black Annis, and Gentle Annie—her name was Anglides, before she shortened it and turned it into a warning. The Mother of Trees.” The Luidaeg looked at me levelly. “We took titles as a warning. ‘Stay away. Here there be monsters.’”
“So you can’t help me,” I said quietly.
“I didn’t say that.” She held out her hand. “Give me one of those chunks of blood.”
I pulled out the bag, eyeing her warily. “Why?”
“Because I asked you to, stupid.”
“Right. Do not argue with the woman who could take your head off.” I pulled one blood gem from the bag and dropped it into her
“See, if you were always that smart, we’d have a better working relationship.” The Luidaeg closed her hand. “I’ll be right back.” She turned and left the room, leaving the two of us alone.
Tybalt moved to sit down next to me on the bed. I scooted over so that my leg was pressed against his, and rested my head on his shoulder. He sighed, a sound that was somewhere between exhaustion and relief, and raised a hand to stroke my hair.
“We will come through this,” he said. “If I have to find your mother myself, and drag her kicking and screaming from whatever hole she is currently hiding in, we will come through this.”
“And if we don’t?” I twisted so I could see his face. “What if it’s me, and chunks of frozen blood, and a human grave? What then?”
“Then I stay beside you for as long as we have.” He kept stroking my hair. Cats like to be petted. Cait Sidhe like to pet. “October, I meant it when I told you I was not leaving you. I will never leave you while both of us are living. You were not quite this human when I met you, and you were far less human when I finally allowed myself to love you. But the essential core of your being has remained the same no matter what the balance of your blood.”
“How is it that you always know the exact right stupid romance novel thing to say?” I asked, leaning up to kiss him.
He smiled against my lips. When I pulled back, he said, “I was a student of Shakespeare centuries before the romance novel was even dreamt. Be glad I do not leave you horrible poetry on your pillow, wrapped securely around the bodies of dead rats.”
“Cait Sidhe romance,” I said, and laughed. “It’s definitely different.”
“I simply wish to ensure you are never bored.”
“Toby doesn’t do ‘bored,’” said the Luidaeg, walking back into the room. She was carrying a baggie of her own. This one was smaller, and contained what looked like a handful of black cherry cough drops, larger and darker than the blood gems I’d gotten from Walther. She thrust it toward me. “Here.”
“What—?” I took the bag.
“I can’t transform your blood into something that can sustain you, but I can freeze mine. If things get desperate, try one of these. Just . . . make sure things are bad, okay? They’re going to have a hell of a kick.”
I looked at the lozenges with newfound respect, and more than a little wariness. “You froze your own blood?” My magic drew power from blood—any blood. But the blood of a Firstborn wasn’t something to mess around with. I could do myself some serious damage with her blood, if I took too much of it, if the power overwhelmed me.
And that was a risk worth taking, if the Luidaeg really thought that it would help.
“I have plans for you, October Daye. They don’t include you dying human of a stupid addiction.” The Luidaeg shook her head. “I can’t help you get a hope chest. I can’t even necessarily help you find your mother—although I can go looking for her, and I will, as soon as you people get the hell out of my bedroom. Don’t come looking for me. I’ll find you.”
“On that terrifying thought . . .” I stood, tucking the bag of lozenges into my jacket. Both my inside pockets were filled with solidified blood now: mine and the Luidaeg’s. I just hoped I wouldn’t confuse the two. “Tybalt, you good for a trip back to my car? It’s time for me to go back onto the grid, and stop wanting to pass out every time we move from point A to point B.”
“Or you could call your friend the taxi driver,” said the Luidaeg. “Don’t exhaust your allies, Toby. You’re going to need them before the night is through. Now get out.”
I considered asking what she meant, but knew I wouldn’t get anything but vague implications of danger to come and maybe some profanity I hadn’t heard in a while. So I just nodded, and said, “I’ll call if anything changes,” before following Tybalt out of the bedroom and heading for the front door.
I was about to step out when a hand descended on my shoulder. I looked back to see the Luidaeg standing behind me, concern written baldly on her face.
“You’re fragile right now,” she said. “Try to be careful, okay? You’re the only niece I’m actually speaking to these days. I’m not in the mood to see you dead.”
“I’ll try,” I said.
She scowled. “Next time, say it like you mean it. Now out.” She pushed me over the threshold, slamming the door behind me.
Tybalt blinked.
I looked at him, and smiled. “She really does care,” I said, before digging my phone out of my pocket. I flipped it open, scrolled through my contact list, and raised it to my ear. A few seconds later, I said, “Hello, Danny? It’s October. I need a ride . . .”
SEVENTEEN
DANNY’S CAB SCREECHED around the corner at a speed somewhere between “unsafe” and “suicidal.” He got extra points for driving that fast through the thick fog that had risen to shroud the entire block while Tybalt and I waited for him to arrive. I hoped it was the Luidaeg trying to give us a little extra cover, and not some sort of nasty present from the Queen. Standing there in the chilly night air, I was very aware that the Queen—illegitimate or not—was part Sea Wight, and I had no idea whether she had access to Sea Wight weather magic.
Then the cab door was slamming shut, and the mountain that was Danny McReady was storming toward us through the fog. “Somebody call for a—Oberon’s scrotum, girl, what did you do to yourself this time?”
“Hi, Danny,” I said, the ghost of a smile on my face. I couldn’t see his expression, but I knew that tone. He’d be looking at me with raw, almost offended incredulity, like he was sure he could figure out the trick if he just stared hard enough. “You like my new look? I’m calling it ‘mortality chic.’”
“It is a good thing fashions change so quickly these days,” said Tybalt. He raised a forefinger. “A point of order—did you just swear by Oberon’s scrotum?”
“Situation demanded it.” Danny stepped closer, and now I could see his face. The incredulity was there, mixed in equal measure with concern. It was like being worried at by a statue. “You okay?”
“Just don’t hug me, and I’ll be fine,” I said, reaching out to rest a hand against his arm.
Danny McReady is a Bridge Troll—eight feet tall if he’s an inch, with skin the color and consistency of granite, and the sort of natural strength that would allow him to fling a Buick, if he wanted to. A hug from him would probably have resulted in my mostly-human guts coming out of my mostly-human eyes. And nobody wanted that.
“Yeah.” Danny frowned before taking an exaggerated step backward, like he’d just realized how fragile I really was. “You guys needed a ride?”
“We do,” I confirmed, and started for the cab. Looking displeased about the whole situation, Tybalt followed. I smiled at him, and smiled again when I saw that the cab was blessedly free of Barghests. “You left the kids at home!”
“I was taking some mor—I mean, I was picking up hu—I wasn’t workin’ with a Barghest-friendly clientele.” Every self-correction made Danny look more miserable, until his face was practically a grimace. “Aw, shit, Tobes, don’t listen to me. I run my mouth.”
“It’s okay, Danny. Honest.” I got into the front passenger seat. Danny was going to need an update on the situation, and it would be easier if I wasn’t shouting from the back of the cab. “Tybalt, do you want to ride in cat form, or do you want to be a part of this conversation?”
“I want to shift into something smaller more than you can possibly know,” he said, getting into the back with exaggerated offense. “Sadly, the smell of Barghest is near-overwhelming with my nose in its current configuration. If I were to become more sensitive, I fear I would black out from the stench.”
“Don’t cats lick their own assholes?” asked Danny mildly, as he wedged himself behind the wheel. Despite the fact that he had to weigh several hundred pounds, the car didn’t even shift. Danny’s cab was so tricked out with charms and customizations by his Gremlin mechanic that it probably handled better with the ballast. ?
“I will not dignify that with a response,” said Tybalt.
Danny snickered as he started the engine. He sobered quickly, glancing to me as we pulled away from the curb. “Where we going?”
“The Library of Stars, to get Quentin—I have directions, and the Librarian promised it wouldn’t move until we were done—and then to Shadowed Hills, if that won’t take you away from your fares for too long. I need to pick up my car.”
“Nope,” said Danny imperturbably.
“What?” I blinked at him.
“I’ll take you to the Library, but I’m not taking you to your car. I’ll take you to Shadowed Hills, if you want. Maybe you could do with checking in, I dunno. Doesn’t mean you’re getting your car back.”
“What are you talking—Danny.” I folded my arms. “Tell me you’re not refusing to take me to my car because you think I’m too human to drive.”
“Can’t. I don’t lie to friends.” He took a sharp turn. “You don’t need a car, Tobes, you need a driver, and muscle to keep you from doing whatever ass-crazy thing pops into your head. You’re too used to being invincible, and right now, you’re not. Me, I sort of am invincible, as long as you’re not coming at me with dynamite and blasting caps. Let me be invincible for you. I can stand between you and the shit that’s trying to make you stop breathing.”
“Much as I hate to add to the size of our company, he has a valid point,” said Tybalt. “I would gladly take a bullet for you. I would even more gladly stand behind a man of living stone and allow him to take the bullet for the both of us.”
“This is macho bullcrap,” I said sourly. It wasn’t—it actually made sense—but I didn’t care. I hated the idea of needing protection.
“So is getting yourself killed to prove that you’re still unkillable,” said Danny. “I ain’t taking you to your car, and that’s final. Now what in Maeve’s name happened?”